Primordia 3: The Lost World—Re-Evolution

by Greig Beck

  “She’s okay.” Helen groaned and sat up. “I hate this damned place.” She grimaced as she pulled her tattered shirt closed and then checked a wound on her upper arm.

  Drake quickly set to patching her up as the sounds from behind them gradually began to fade away.

  “Let’s get back,” Ben said, trying to see back down the track.

  He and Drake helped Helen along as Francis gave them cover. In just a few minutes, they rejoined a very bloody and battered Chess, plus Shawna breathing hard, bleeding from multiple wounds and looking like she just fell out of a moving car. Dead Troodon littered the ground everywhere. Ben counted about 10.

  Shawna stared. “Hey.” Her brows knitted. “Where the fuck is Nicky?”

  “What?” Ben spun to her. “He was here.”

  “Ah, bullshit, man. I thought he went with you,” the brawny woman said.

  “For fuck’s sake.” Ben ran a hand up through his hair. “Spread out.”

  “They took him?” Shawna said softly. “They took my little Nicky?” She turned slowly and it told Ben they had no idea even which way they’d taken him.

  *****

  Nicolás skidded and slid as he was dragged through the jungle. He felt like he had nails driven into his flesh as talons dug into his skin and leathery hands gripped him by the arms, clothing, hair, and legs.

  He looked up, and one of them turned to stare down at him—large front-facing red eyes that belonged on the devil itself, set in an intelligent pebbled face that had black and white downy feathers starting at the neck. It grinned at him with blood covering its lips, and he couldn’t tell whether it looked more like a large bird or a lizard.

  The two creatures continued to stare at each other, and Nicolás could see that between its eyes was a distinctive v-pattern of scales or horns that gave it a heavy-browed look and also made it seem like it was scowling at him.

  But there was clear intelligence there, and he wondered if he might be able to communicate. He bounced as he was dragged over a rock, and it caused a talon to dig painfully deep in his arm.

  “Stop!”

  He tried to pull away and writhed hard, trying to at least slow them down a little.

  “Stop, please.”

  They were traveling so fast, he knew his friends would never be able to keep up, and soon, they’d never even be able to find him. What would happen then? he wondered.

  As if in response, a set of jaws like a bear trap lunged at the side of his face and ripped his left ear completely away. The pain was excruciating and he didn’t need to look to know that his ear was greedily gobbled down.

  He knew then what would happen to him.

  “Please, no,” he begged insanely.

  The things, the Troodon, Helen had called them, clicked and squealed excitedly to each other, and he was aware they were communicating.

  They then burst through into a clearing, and Nicolás immediately recognized where he was—there were obliterated egg nests, fragments of shell, and glistening yolk everywhere.

  “I didn’t do this,” he pleaded.

  The Troodon pack started to nip at him, but a sound like a barking cough from one of them caused them to stop. He was then held as the largest creature leaned in close to sniff at him, especially where the blood ran down from the side of his mutilated face.

  “It wasn’t me.”

  He began to cry, as what he assumed was their pack leader brought its face even closer to his. It sniffed him, and the red eyes never blinked as they looked deep into his own eyes and began to examine him. It lifted one scaly, demonic-looking hand that had three fingers and another that acted like a thumb and hooked it into his shirtfront. It peeled downward, ripping it open and exposing his chest and stomach.

  “I have food bars.” Nicolás began to urinate from fear and the smell seemed to excite the pack even more. He threw his head back. “Help.” He gulped air, feeling he was going to be sick. “He-eeelp!”

  It was hopeless, he knew it, and he finally lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

  The pack leader darted in, its jaws snapping, and it took the tip of his nose. The other creatures took it as a sign and also began to nip and pick at him, taking fingers, small chunks of meat from his shoulders, chest, and other parts of his body.

  They worked on him for many minutes, killing him slowly as they ate him alive. Their revenge was as sweet as his flesh.

  *****

  Ben and his team moved as fast as they dared. Though the Troodon were formidable adversaries when hunting in packs, there were other huge predators that would obliterate them if they caught the tiny band of humans off guard.

  All Ben could hope was that seeing the jungle was so dense and tightly tangled here, it would have made it difficult for larger predators to enter or at least chase them down.

  At first, the signs of Nicolás being dragged were clear, but they became fainter and fainter, and then they vanished altogether. After another 20 minutes, Ben held up his hand.

  “Stop.”

  They piled up around him, guns pointed out at the mad, green tangle. It wasn’t silent anymore, as the living, breathing sounds of the jungle had restarted all around them. He knew then they’d lost the trail.

  “He’s gone,” Chess said.

  “Aw, shit.” Shawna’s mouth turned down hard.

  “Quiet.” Ben tilted his head, listening. He thought he heard a scream, but he couldn’t be sure. He waited, but it wasn’t repeated. Then he heard nothing. Chess was right: the kid was gone.

  “They knew what they were doing,” Drake said. “Going after Helen was only meant to draw us away; to distract us. They’d probably targeted Nicolás all along.”

  “He was the only one that didn’t carry a weapon,” Shawna said.

  They turned to look at her. Shit, she’s right, Ben thought. He turned to Helen. “Could they be that smart?”

  Helen was still bent over, flushed and breathing hard. But after a moment, she looked up at him from under her brows. “An hour ago, I would have said no. But now…” she shrugged.

  Ben nodded and exhaled, feeling his anger build. He bared his teeth and kicked at a clod, sending it into the underbrush. “This fucking place.” He looked up. “We should never have let him come with us.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s on you, Cartwright.” Chess’ lip curled. “The kid was as good as dead the moment you let him tag along.”

  “No, he was always going to come with or without us,” Helen said. “It’s not his fault.”

  “Bullshit. There’s a hundred ways you coulda stopped him from coming.” He pointed one large blunt finger at Ben’s chest. “Ask the kid’s corpse if he would have rather had a busted jaw or be eaten alive.”

  Ben’s jaw jutted and he went to move in on Chess, but the mercenary just angled the barrel of his gun a little. “Uh uh, let’s not get dumb now, big fella.”

  “Leave it.” Drake grabbed Ben’s shoulder. “Now’s not the time.” He turned his head slowly. “C’mon, we should move.”

  Ben knew Drake was right. Much as he wanted to stomp Chess flat, right now he needed the asshole. “Yeah.” He looked out at the walls of the steaming jungle. “Sorry, Nicolás. I just hope… I just hope it was quick.”

  Shawna stayed for a moment longer, one side of her mouth pulled up a little. “The nice ones always disappear.” She sighed. “Goodbye, Nicky.” She then followed them into the green.

  *****

  Ben and the group trekked slowly, wary now of every shadow, broken twig, or swaying branch in the jungle. It was wearing them down and fatigue was turning the group on each other, and instead of remaining on high alert, they spent more time bitching at one another.

  They needed a break, and soon. So it was with relief that they finally found a more open space in the jungle that was between two boulders on one side, tree trunks the size of redwoods on the other, and a thick green canopy overhead, with some good-sized holes in the branches above to let in a few columns of light.
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br />   In the absence of a cave, it was dry, defensible, and there was no sign of any predators. Chess had climbed to the top of one of the boulders and had his scope to his eye and moved it along the foliage.

  Ben waited at the bottom and was heartened to see the mercenary taking his time, checking even the overhead canopy. “What’ve you got?”

  Chess grinned as he stared. “You won’t fucking believe it.” He pulled the scope from his eyes. “A space ship.”

  “A what?” Drake turned.

  “Yeah, yeah, there, look.” He pointed up into the huge Banyan tree.

  Ben spun and sure enough, looking like some sort of massive overgrown hanging fruit, was a space capsule.

  It was about 15 feet up from the ground and still hooked up by parachute cables. Vines had snaked all over and around it.

  Ben walked toward it and stood below looking up at it. “I’m pretty sure it’s popped open. Looks old, 50 years at least.” He tilted his head and walked a little further to one side. “I think it’s one of ours.”

  Searching the ground underneath the capsule, he found the helmet and shook mud and plant matter from it. He wiped a sleeve over the forehead plate.

  “Gordon,” he said, reading the stenciled name.

  “Red Gordon?” Drake crossed to him and took the helmet. He shook his head. “I’ll be damned.” He looked up at the hanging module. “He was a fearless test pilot in the late 50s. But he vanished while attempting to be the first man to orbit the Earth.”

  Drake held the helmet up and wiped more debris from it. “According to official records, they believed his rocket exploded on re-entry somewhere over South America. His loss set us back several years in the space race.”

  Helen grimaced from the pain of her wounds and hobbled a little closer. “Do you…do you think he survived the crash?”

  Ben looked up at the open capsule. “Yeah, I think he survived the crash and got out.” He looked around. “But how long after that, who knows.”

  “The Bermuda Triangle.” Drake snorted softly. “I remember you telling me about that World War II Corsair fighter that had crashed here. Anything that’s unlucky enough to be caught in the magnetic distortion effects as Primordia is passing over ends up coming down here. And then vanishes from our modern world, just like in the Bermuda Triangle.”

  “Yeah, I think this place solves a lot of mysteries,” Ben said. “Because no one is ever going to find these lost souls, no matter how long and hard they look.”

  Drake crouched to place the helmet on the ground and laid one hand on top of it. “Rest in peace, Red.”

  Ben turned to Chess, still perched up high. “Anything else?”

  Chess quickly took a last look with his scope. “Nope. All clear.” He lowered his hand. “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”

  “Okay, let’s take 20,” Ben said. The team exhaled with relief and started to drop packs, finding places to kick back.

  Ben watched as their small group spread out a little. Drake smiled and spoke softly to Helen as he re-checked her wounds. Shawna seemed a little lost and sat with her head bowed and elbows resting on her knees, and big Francis patrolled the perimeter. Chess stayed atop the rock sprawled out and watching over all of them.

  Ben paced, looking from the wall of the jungle to the canopy overhead. Experience, and his gut, told him there was no safe place at all in this world. There were some places that afforded shelter or security, but only for a while. And that “while” only lasted until you were found.

  He looked up again and through one of the holes in the tree canopy: from this angle, he couldn’t see the streak of Primordia and only spotted a few of the bat-like creatures that flapped awkwardly from branch to branch. But they weren’t bats at all, as the mammals wouldn’t evolve for millions of years yet.

  Beside him, there was a small shrub with simple bell-like flowers, and within them a few insects that looked like flies moved from flower bell to flower bell. He’d seen them before, and after his time in the primordial jungle, he had researched them when he got home—he had learned they were primitive bees, and he remembered Helen telling him that insects had been around longer than most other creatures on earth, but bees evolved around the Cretaceous in response to the flowering plants.

  If you build it, they will come. He smiled as he continued to watch the tiny bees. Who came first? he wondered. You for the flowers, or the flowers for you?

  Ben sighed. Evolution was crafty. It watched and then acted—if something was beneficial to the survival of a species then it was grabbed, amplified, and replicated. And if it wasn’t, well, nature was also brutally fast in her rejection.

  Unless something intervened to accelerate or hinder that rejection, he thought, and continued to watch the bees. These tiny creatures had proved to be enormously important to the modern world, and for all he knew, this very hive was one of the keystone species. If it was wiped out when it was supposed to survive, then potentially everything changes.

  He continued to stare. A small change today can change our tomorrow. A small change 100 million years ago can change everything, he thought.

  Can’t let that happen, he resolved and slowly stood. “Because that’s why we’re here,” he said to the small bees.

  *****

  Chess watched the group from upon high. Time was moving on, and frankly, he couldn’t give a shit whether they found this Andy guy or not. Either way, he got paid.

  Shitty luck about Buster and the kid, but he was damned sure it wasn’t going to happen to him.

  His lips turned up in a cruel smile. If he had to take bets on who would be next, he’d give short odds to it being the wounded woman, Helen. He bet by now she must smell like fresh meat with all those cuts all over her body. It was the reason he never walked too close to her.

  Chess rubbed his chin, watching them. Or maybe it’d be Francis, or even Drake or Ben, as all three of them seemed willing to jump into the fire if they felt it was needed. Heroes die first, ladies and gentlemen. He grinned down at them.

  His eyes settled on Ben. He’d love to see that asshole buy it. And if he didn’t think it would cause him a problem getting his money, he’d gut him when no one was looking and leave him to bleed out in this godforsaken shit hole.

  Just a little longer, he thought. You can hold it in until then, Chessy Boy.

  Chess then carefully reached into a pocket and pulled out a small string bag of tobacco. Papers and a few striking matches were also tucked inside. He kept an eye on Drake and Ben Cartwright as he bet they’d blow a gasket if they saw him lighting up.

  He snorted. He did say light ‘em if you got ‘em, and no one complained, so…

  He rolled the small cigarette, twisted the edges, and stuck it in his mouth. By the time they smelled it, if they smelled it, he’d have stubbed it out—just a couple of red-hot draws, and he’d be all good.

  He lit the match between his thumb and fingernail and held it to the end. It glowed orange, and he sucked in the sweet smoke. He let it drift out from between his lips.

  “Ah-hhh.”

  He dragged on the slim cigarette again, hard, taking the smoke in deep and feeling the burn all the way down to the bottom of his lungs. He hissed the smoke out, trying to spread it, and then pinched off the glowing tip and flicked it away—no mess, no trouble, and no one was the wiser.

  That was better, he thought, and drew the string tight on the tobacco bag, then began swinging it around his finger. Chess sniffed—the smoke had already dissipated, but… he lifted his chin to sniff again. There was something new, something that smelled a little like cat’s piss.

  His brows came together and he first sniffed under one of his arms. Then he turned. The small bag of tobacco stopped spinning in his finger as he stared into the face of the devil himself. Right behind him hung a four-foot-wide diamond-shaped head, with two large glassy eyes on each side. The scales were a mix of brown and green and looked like heavy armor plating, but it was impossible to tell exactly how big
it was, as the snake trailed away into the trees well beyond his vision.

  “Gah.” His brain tried to initiate a call for help, but his tongue and lips refused to translate it into anything coherent as cold fear short-circuited his lower face.

  Those eyes; they hypnotized him, held him frozen as the monster stared deep inside him to the bottom of his soul. The tiny bag fell from his hand.

  Then it struck.

  *****

  Ben sniffed, smelling the cigarette smoke. That asshole, he thought as his anger began to rise. He turned to where Chess had been perched, about to tear the guy a new one for smoking, but saw that the rock he had been on was now empty.

  “Hey.” He turned about. “Shawna, where’d Chess go?”

  The female merc lifted her head from her reverie and looked quickly up at the rock perch and then shrugged. “Probably takin’ a leak.”

  “Jesus wept.” Ben seethed. Nobody, but nobody, was supposed to be going anywhere by themselves without telling anyone.

  “Ben.”

  He turned. Helen was now back on her feet and standing with Drake. She waved him closer.

  “That smell,” she said, and her face was bleached of color.

  “Yeah, that asshole Chess was probably smoking. Might be okay, as the smell of burning shouldn’t…”

  “No, no, not that,” Helen said. She sniffed again. “Like the smell of the reptile room.”

  Just the woman saying it made Ben’s heart rate kick up a notch. “Oh shit.” He spun, gun up. “Heads up, people, I think we got company.” Ben backed up.

  “Wazzup?” Shawna, sensing the alert, leapt to her feet and also pulled her rifle from over her shoulder.

  Francis planted trunk-like legs and swept his gun barrel over the foliage. “I got nothin’ here.”

  “Holy fuck, in the trees.” Shawna’s eyes were so wide they threatened to pop the eyeballs from her head.

  Ben looked to where she was pointing, and at first saw nothing but thick leaves, branches, and the wider tree canopy, so effectively had the monster concealed itself.

  It was the jungle boots that he found first. Just up and to the left, a massive snake hung in the boughs of the tree. Sticking from its maw were two legs, and horrifyingly, they watched the legs kick, showing their owner was still alive. Then, the peristaltic motions of its throat drew them down into the gullet. Ben didn’t need to be a genius to know whose legs they were.